Poem by Edmund Waller

The Dancer

Behold the brand of beauty tossed!
See how the motion does dilate the flame!
Delighted love his spoils does boast,
And triumph in this game.
Fire, to no place confined,
Is both our wonder and our fear;
Moving the mind,
As lightning hurled through air.

High heaven the glory does increase
Of all her shining lamps, this artful way;
The sun in figures, such as these,
Joys with the moon to play.
To the sweet strains they all advance,
Which do result from their own spheres,
As this nymph's dance
Moves with the numbers which she hears. 

1. The Self Banished
2. Of My Lady Isabella Playing on the Lute
3. To a Lady Singing a Song of His Composing
4. At Penshurst
5. To One Married to an Old Man

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